


Still Got Me

by kittenofdoomage



Series: Angst Appreciation Day 2017 [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Depression, F/M, Suicide, death of a family member, self blame, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Written for Angst Appreciation Day. The reader has lost her brother and doesn't know how to cope with it.





	Still Got Me

 

There was a certain kind of relief when you realized it was all going to be over soon. Everything you’d done up to this point would cease to matter - including the things you’d failed to do.

Like protecting Liam.

He was your duty, your charge, and you’d kept him safe for so long. One momentary lapse, and he was gone, taken away by the monsters you’d sworn to destroy. Even when you’d come to live with Sam and Dean at the bunker at their insistence, you’d kept your promise to your parents and you’d let down your guard allowing Liam to have a little more freedom, a little more fun.

And now he was dead.

He would have been eight next month.

Looking down at the empty whiskey bottle in your hand, you choked back a sob, closing your eyes before dropping it onto the floor of the filthy motel room. It was all you could find with thirty bucks to your name and less than a quarter tank of gas. The beat up old Citroen outside would eventually be traced by the Winchesters and they’d find you, but it would be too late.

It was better this way. Everything would be over, everything would be quiet and you’d atone for what you’d allowed to happen. It was almost like you could hear them, accusing you, telling you it was your fault. You’d let the demons take him, torture him and finally murder him. For six days, you’d searched high and low, frantic with worry, before finding his tiny body in the backroom of an abandoned house, his blood painting the walls mockingly with your name.

Losing control after that was just a matter of time. You drank, you took risks, hunting became a game of “when will I die”. Sam caught up to you taking on a werewolf pack alone, and you’d hated him for standing in the way of your easy death. He’d swept in like a shining knight you never wanted, and killed the wolves, before patching you up.

You wished he’d let you bleed to death.

It was no less than you’d deserved.

From then on, it became a case of avoiding the brothers, which was hard when you shared living space. About six weeks after Liam’s death, you’d packed a bag in the middle of the night, taken the old car your Dad had bought you when you’d gotten your permit, and taken off into the darkness, without even so much as a note. Sam and Dean couldn’t trace you if you turned off the GPS on your phone.

You ditched it somewhere in Monville, just in case. Not like you needed a phone where you were going.

Planning had taken over, and you’d moved from gross motel to gross motel, thinking of the best way to do it. Cutting yourself wasn’t an option - it sounded stupid but you knew you’d pussy out and not go through with it because of the pain. Hanging didn’t feel dignified enough, and you weren’t sure if dumping a toaster or radio in the bath would be thorough enough.

Pills and alcohol were the only option you’d had. By the time you’d swallowed down fifty pills, your throat was raw, but you kept going, supplementing the drugs with cheap store-brand whiskey. You weren’t even sure what you were taking - you’d grabbed whatever you could find, and bought something off of a strange looking man on a street corner.

Now, you were two hours in, you were drunk off your ass and unable to stand. Your mouth tasted like a truck stop toilet, and you’d long since run out of tears. The feeling in your stomach made you want to throw up, but you didn’t want to ruin all your work now.

The room around you was silent, and the whiskey was gone. Laying back on the filthy bed, you closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable, waiting for the reaper to take you. Didn’t suicide guarantee you a spot in hell? You just hoped that Sam and Dean would give you a hunter’s funeral - not because you deserved one, but because you couldn’t abide coming back as a spirit. You had to repent, you had to pay for what you’d done. Pay for letting your brother, your whole family down.

Death was the only way. Hell was your only path.

You didn’t hear anything now. High pitched ringing filled your ears, and you felt your chest tighten painfully. Taking a sharp gasp, there was the sensation of the bed moving underneath you, and you welcomed the heavy feeling pressing you down.

“Y/N, wake up.”

The voice was disjointed, but you ignored it; it was your imagination, you were sure of it.

“Come on, baby girl, you need to open your eyes for me.”

Was it Dean? No, they couldn’t have found you. You’d made sure of it.

“Cas, you gotta do something. What’s wrong with her?”

Just the ringing again. Something heavy pressed to your chest, and you shook your body, attempting to dislodge it.

“Shit, she’s seizing.”

_ No, I’m not, I’m dying. Let me die. _

You couldn’t speak. The heavy weight on your chest grew warm, and the ringing in your ears increased, making you struggle trying to get away from it. A screech built in your throat, spilling out as the warm spread through your limbs, taking away the blissful feeling of floating, of heading to where you were supposed to be.

Everything faded, the warmth with it, and you opened your eyes, blinking up at the ceiling of the motel room you’d chosen to die in. A face appeared, and you recognized it, scowling at him. “Why are you here?” you asked, noticing the raspy quality of your voice from the combined alcohol and pills had disappeared.

Dean frowned, stumbling backwards as you pushed him off. Opposite you, Castiel watched, a similar expression on his face. “Saving your life,” the hunter stated, keeping his eyes fixed on you. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing I didn’t want,” you replied tersely, looking around the room. Whatever Cas had done, he’d destroyed all your hard work, and now you would have to start again. Dragging your eyes back to Dean, you were shocked to see hurt and pain in his gaze. “What?”

“You…” he swallowed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “You wanted to die?”

“The cocktail you took would have killed you in a matter of moments. Your organs were failing,” the angel stated. “I fail to understand why you would want this.”

You regarded him coolly, ignoring Dean. “My choice. I didn’t want to involve you.”

“Your choice?” Dean practically exploded, flinging his arms wide, his voice louder than you’d been expecting. A flinch jolted you backwards, and he shook his head. “Why the hell would you wanna do this, Y/N?”

“Because I killed him!” you cried, feeling fresh tears sting your eyes. “I didn’t look out for him. I thought we were safe, and protected, and I let my guard down, and now he’s dead! He was just a little boy!”

Silence filled the room, the atmosphere thick with tension as Dean watched you, and you stood up, stomping away from the bed and towards the bathroom. It was a petty action, but you slammed the door, collapsing down against it to cradle your head in your arms, allowing the tears to fall.

Nothing happened for a few moments. You hoped Dean and Castiel would leave, let you do what you needed to do. You’d have to start again, but you’d be quicker this time, smarter about it.

But that was hoping for too much.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice was muffled through the thick fire door, and you ignored him, until he knocked on the door.

“Just leave me alone,” you pleaded, hating the way you sounded so pathetic and broken.

“I can’t do that.”

Your sobs caught in your throat and you raised your head, letting it fall back against the door with a thud. “Why not?”

He sighed heavily, and you heard the sound of wings fluttering, signifying that Castiel had left. Dean didn’t speak, and you waited, holding your breath.

“It’s complicated,” he muttered, making you strain to hear him. You clenched your fists, closing your eyes as you sucked in a breath.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not right, and it never will be. Because I don’t…” he stopped, sighing again, and you opened your eyes, getting to your feet. Gripping the door handle tightly, you opened the door, looking at him with red rimmed eyes.

“Tell me,” you urged, wanting to know the truth, moving closer to him. “Tell me why I should keep doing this. Why I should fight when I’ve lost everything? My family is dead. I don’t have any friends because I spent so long on the road, running.” You could feel fresh, angry hot tears on your cheeks but you were too out of it to care. “I have  _ nothing _ , Dean, and you want me to stick around?”

He stared at you, seeing the way your body shook with rage, the way your hands tightened into fists and released constantly. You were on edge and slipping, and he was the only one who could catch you.

“You haven’t lost everything,” he replied quietly, stepping closer. A scornful noise left your throat and you went to move away, only to find your escape halted by his hand on your face, cupping your cheek gently. “You haven’t. I’ve been where you are, Y/N. I wanted to quit, wanted it all to end.” You tugged away, but he shook his head, using his other hand to cradle your face between his palms. 

“Dean -”

“No, listen to me,” he demanded softly, locking his eyes on yours. “Do you even see how amazing you are?”

“I’m not -”

He scowled. “I said listen. Without interrupting.” You snapped your mouth shut, preparing to hear whatever he had to say, but feeling like you wouldn’t believe a word of it. “I know you’re hurting real bad right now, and I don’t blame you. What you’ve been through would take anyone down. I  _ understand _ , sweetheart, I really do, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you slip away like that. Me and Sam, all we ever had was each other, and it took me a long fucking time to move past that, for both of us to realize that we can live without the other. It’d hurt, it  _ does _ hurt, but you gotta realize - your brother?” You nodded, not even stopping the fat tears rolling down your face and wetting his fingers. Dean smiled sadly. “He wouldn’t want you to leave. He wouldn’t want you to give up. He knows how hard you fought for him, what you did for him. But what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“But I -” you started, only for Dean to shake his head.

“You did nothing wrong. We couldn’t see that happening. We didn’t know. We’re just hunters, Y/N, and you’ve done so much good in the world. You  _ can _ do so much good. I’m not saying it’s easy, I’d be lying if I did, but you got me, you got Sam, you got Cas…” His thumbs wiped away your tears, his smile softening. “You have so much you haven’t even started to find out.”

Your bottom lip was quivering as Dean spoke, and a sob left your lips, prompting him to release your face and drag you into his arms. His mouth was pressed against your hair, kissing your head as you cried into his shirt, leaving it wet.

“I wish I could take this away from you,” he whispered. “I love you so much, it hurts to see you in so much pain. Thinking of a world without you… it’s a world I don’t wanna be in.”

The announcement came as a shock, and you pulled back a little to look up at him. “What?”

Dean’s expression was sheepish. “It’s ridiculous, I know. I’m nearly twice your age, and you’re… fuck, I could never deserve someone like you. And I know you’re hurting, and you feel like this is the end but I just want you to know -” he paused, sucking a breath, “-I  _ need _ you to know that you haven’t lost everything. You still got me.”

There was nothing you could say, and as you stood there staring at him, seeing the burgeoning rejection in his eyes, you couldn’t even gather your thoughts. For a long time, you’d harbored a crush on the man, but you’d never thought he’d look twice at you, and the niggling doubt in your mind was now telling you that it was lies; he was only telling you this to stop you from killing yourself.

Dean, apparently, realized this when a few moments passed with nothing being said. “Don’t think I’m only saying this because it will stop you. I’m not. I don’t expect anything from you. But I needed you to know that I’m here. And I’ll always be here.”

“You can’t know that,” you whispered, all too aware of the fragility of life, and especially of life as a hunter.

His smile fell. “I know. But I can promise that I will try my best. Every day.” He seemed so earnest, so open in that moment, but you couldn’t silence the voice in your head telling you it was lies. Telling you that he simply didn’t want the guilt of your death on his hands.

“Dean, I -”

“Come home with me,” he interrupted. “You need help. You need to fight through. I know it’s hard, I know it hurts, but please, don’t give up. You’ve got so much,” he smiled, his fingers tightening their hold on you. “If you won’t do it for me, or you… do it to make a difference. Do it so no one feels how you felt, so no one feels that loss.”

“What if it’s not enough?”

He hesitated, watching you for a second. “I don’t have the answer to that.” Slowly, his fingers slipped from your arms, and he stepped back. “I can’t force you to come home. I can’t make you do anything. You’re a grown woman, Y/N, and I know you’re hurting. All I can do is promise you that I’ll try to make it better, that I’ll try to help.”

You looked down at the filthy carpet, unsure what to say. Ignoring the voices, the anxiety in your head was too hard to bear, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I don’t know what to do.” The words were so quiet Dean had to strain to hear them, and he nodded, even though you weren’t looking.

“I’ll help you. I promise,” he repeated.

“Would you… would you give me a few minutes?” you asked, still not looking at him.

“I’ll be in the car.”

The sound of his footsteps grew quieter until it was replaced with a click of the door locking automatically, and you exhaled a breath you weren’t aware you’d be holding. Everything was jumbled in your head, and you wondered how you were supposed to decide. Live or die. Take the chance with Sam and Dean, with Dean’s promises, with the world that had so far let you down, or let it all go and do what you’d originally intended.

Your eyes fell on Dean’s jacket, left haphazardly on the bed. Walking over, you found the glock he always carried in his pocket, and you picked it up, wondering if he’d meant to leave it behind, wondering if he’d even notice.

A gunshot would be quick. Little to no pain if you did it right.

_ I love you so much, it hurts to see you in so much pain. _

It hurt to  _ be  _ in so much pain. You didn’t know if Dean could fix that, could fix you, or if you were just lining yourself up for more of it.

_ I need you to know that you haven’t lost everything. You still got me. _

There was a odd calm feeling that swept through you as your fingers cradled the smooth cold gun. You could hear the Impala’s engine rumbling outside the door, and you closed your eyes, listening to it. It was almost nostalgic, like the first night the Winchesters had found you and Liam, huddled in the rain with no money for a motel, fresh from fighting off a banshee.

You’d cried then too.

And Dean had saved you then.

Cool metal dug into your temple as you shuddered with the sudden chill that tickled your spine, and you heard fists against the door. The Impala continued to rumble, and somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard the sound of rain falling, just like last time.

It was strange, how relaxed you felt, with the trigger loosening under your finger.

_ Take a chance. _

_ Do it. _

_ Go with Dean. _

_ It won’t hurt. _

“Shut up,” you muttered, keeping your eyes closed. Dean was shouting something, but you couldn’t make out the words. Everything was a cacophony of noise that did nothing but hurt, and you squeezed the trigger a little more, breathing heavily.

_ Please. _

Icy coldness drifted through the room, making your breath visible in the air and you opened your eyes at the familiar sounding voice.

_ Don’t. Y/N. Don’t. _

A small form flickered in and out of focus - you recognised the Pokemon t-shirt, the sandy colored hair, the friendly smile. He was barely visible, but you could see his smile.

_ Don’t. _

“Liam…” you breathed his name, not dropping the gun, staring at him with it pressed to your head. His smile widened.

_ Not your fault. _

Dean’s fists continued to hammer on the door, and you slowly lowered the gun, letting your arm fall to your side. Liam’s specter stepped forward, still grinning, and you reached out, only for your hand to go through him.

_ I can’t sleep, Y/N. Help me sleep? _

You nodded, tears falling down your already red and swollen cheeks, and you looked down at the mood ring on your pinky finger - the one Liam had given you last year. He’d won it in an arcade machine in California, and insisted he give it to you. It was the only thing you had left.

Pulling it from your finger, you moved over to the sink, ignoring Dean’s frantic attempts to get into the room, dropping the ring into the sink. You poured salt all over it, before finding a packet of matches, with the ghost of your brother watching all the while. Before you set the fire, you turned to him, kneeling down to his level.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Liam only smiled again.

You dropped a match onto the salt-covered ring, just as the door opened from the force of Dean’s foot. He fell into the room, just in time to see the fire in the sink, and your brother’s spirit go up in white flames, finally at rest. Dean’s eyes dropped to the gun, and he lurched forward, snatching it from your loose grasp.

“Y/N?” he asked, and you looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You okay?”

It was a long stretched out silence, before you inhaled deeply and nodded, a contemplative look on your face. “Yeah.” He visibly relaxed at the word, and pulled you close, kissing your forehead softly. You leaned into him, inhaling his scent. “Take me home?”

 


End file.
